


Ache

by littletechiebird



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time heals all wounds, but even scars can ache. There are some people that were fortunate enough to come back, and Tim could never be happier to have his friends, his comrades, back in his life. But out of all of the losses he sustained in the last few years, there was still one that never came back. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I never do these, but this story has a personal significance for why I have written it. I would like to share that.
> 
> Sixty-three years ago today, a beautiful human being was born. He was amazing, brilliant, talented, caring, and someone that anyone would and should hope to be like. I mention this date, because that was when my father was born. He was a doctor. He helped people, at any cost. He was an artist of the body to help it heal, he was an artist of the canvas, and an artist of the pen — which I have inherited. He helped those that he knew, those that he didn’t. He was there for his family, as well. His heart was the biggest and the strongest.
> 
> Eighteen years ago today, that light went away. 
> 
> I had two years with that man, and I only have stories, videos, pictures. But I know he touched far too many lives. I’m proud of everything he did. He was flawed, but he worked to make up for those flaws. He was as perfect as it got, even with his flaws. I’m proud I’m his daughter.
> 
> So for once, I’m doing a little something for him. To honor his memory today, there’s this little drabble. It’s not much, it’s also not enough, but he might’ve liked it. 
> 
> I hope all of you do too.
> 
> Happy Birthday, Dad. I will never miss you any less.

There was nothing different about the roses. Not a special arrangement, just two simple white roses. The vials attached to the stems still filled with cool, fresh water beneath the white tissue paper that they were wrapped in, a single black ribbon tied in a bow to keep it together.

 

It was a simple arrangement for a simple gesture. 

 

Stowing them inside his jacket, he zipped it up and swung his leg over the bike, pulling on the helmet as he then continued to rev the engine to life, zipping out of the parking lot and onto the streets. Silence hung in his ears, not a single sound of the city, or even the engine that roared in his control as he sped through the familiar streets. 

 

The day seemed just a little bit darker while it held that silence.  
It seemed just a little longer.  
Despite the time that passed, a numbness remained on this day, pushing forward in his mind.

 

It had been almost two years since he’d been gone. It hadn’t gotten much easier in that time. Nothing made much more sense than it had when all of it had fallen away. He hadn’t really allowed himself to live down much of the guilt. It still gnawed at him. But more than that, it just still seemed so unreal. Every time he thought about the idea that he would never get to talk to him again? He wanted to _laugh_. He just wanted to laugh as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world because it seemed so impossible after everything that had happened.

 

But it couldn’t have been truer. 

 

As he pulled up to the hill, he slowed down and removed his helmet, stowing it as he continued along slowly. He pulled to the side of the winding street that continued ahead and moved the kickstand out with his foot, allowing it to rest stably as he turned the engine off and put the keys into his pocket. He unzipped his jacket and removed the roses. They were unchanged, which he was glad for. He grabbed a bottle of water that he had brought with him from his backpack that was strapped to the motorcycle and zipped it shut again.

 

He’d only been at this place a dozen times or so, but his feet already knew the path well. The grass had a wet kind of crunch to it. It was still a bright, resilient green that came with the warmer weather, droplets of water saturating the ground and the blades that rose from the dirt. He’d been grateful the rain had taken a break. It wouldn’t have stopped him from coming, it never had before, but it was just a little easier. There was already enough rain that fell in his mind, but it was better these days. Just a little, but he appreciated what he could get.

 

Footsteps came to a halt, each hand resting at his side as one held the water, the other held the flowers. Blue eyes stared at the ground, the cool stone and metal that stared up at him with brief words and two single dates.  There was an uneasiness and anxiousness that rose as he looked at it, the feelings trying to refresh themselves to be as real and as strong as they had the first time he’d come to this very spot, or even one that had been more tainted with blood -- the one step that had come before this one.

 

For a long while, he stayed as he was. He felt no need to move, nor a desire. He didn’t even know how to recognize the thoughts that slipped through his mind. He was far too distracted with his body’s battle against itself between ripping open old wounds and letting him remain in the dull, aching numbness. 

 

It didn’t subside.

 

Taking in a deep breath and letting it slip from his lungs, he closed his eyes as he breathed. Opening them again, he tried to smile though it surfaced with some pain. He knelt down in the damp grass, ignoring that his jeans would soon end up being rather saturated with the rainwater. This was more important. He spoke with the first things that came to mind as he began to work. He had set down the bottle of water and flowers on either side of him and leaned forward to take interest in the circle at the top of the metal. He brushed some dead grass and leaves off of the metal’s face and twisted at the knob at the center of the circle, then raising a metallic vase. Turning it right side up, he settled it back into the circle he had raised it from, twisting it back into place, the vase secure and ready to be used. He wiped some of the webs away and cleaned the inside of it out with some of the water.

 

As he finished, he used the remaining water to fill it and unwrapped the roses, pulling off the tubes at the end, setting them aside with the rest of the trash. He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut off the ends of the stems before he settled them into the vase. He’d paid no mind to what he’d been speaking about, or the fact that it seemed as if he’d spoken to no one. He just continued on.

 

“...Did I tell you that they’re back? Bruce, Bart, Steph... Even Conner..” He murmured, pained smile remaining. It brought a burn that was consistent in his chest while the tips of his lungs felt frozen. Or maybe it wasn’t the smile that was doing that. “I got everyone back. Who knew, right?” His voice cracked, his head lowering as it did.

 

“Got everyone but you.”

 

He still didn’t understand.. How was he supposed to live in a world without his father? He’d figured out how to operate a long time ago, but he felt like it had been muddled, somewhat forgotten, when he’d finally started to learn what it was like to have a real father figure in his life. Even better when that father wasn’t the person he was lying to anymore. He’d worried him, and he hated that, but he had also started to see such immeasurable _pride_ in his father’s eyes. 

 

There was no describing or matching the feeling that came with that.

 

Tim knew, and he was sure, that his father was confident in Bruce’s ability to take care of him. To look after him. There had been moments where he wondered, if his father had been able to see, had he been worried when Bruce had been gone? When he’d been losing himself, afraid he was going to lose his mind or do something _crazy_.. Had he been worried? Or had he known that Bruce would be back, and that Tim would be able to hold on with the help of some of those that he hadn’t lost? There was no way he could know. There was only the chance to pick whichever option seemed prettier, or made him feel better -- if he wanted to. He’d decided to leave it undecided. 

 

Fingers reached out, tracing the golden lettering on the headstone, his father’s name laid out before him. Loving father. Loving husband. A date of birth, and one of death. The years were far too close to each other. It still made his stomach burn with regret for him. There had still been so much to do. He’d turned things around for them. They were just starting to understand each other. They were finally getting it right. 

 

He hadn’t realized there was a breath that he’d held until it had gone stale in his lungs. He shakily exhaled and rested his palm against the edge where metal met stone. He looked at it, still finding it to be so oddly foreign. It never seemed quite real enough. It would never make sense how someone could be in your life one moment, and gone the next. Life kept on, the world kept turning, even when a big part of your own world -- your tiny bit of it -- disappeared. No matter what was ripped away, or what was pulled from under your feet, nothing stopped. 

 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to either.

 

“Happy Birthday, Dad.”

 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t miss what he’d lost.


End file.
